Of Hellhounds and Hot Cocoa
by BaldiDaughterChevy
Summary: Dean's deal is falling due soon and Sam is unraveling. A lot of hurt, sad Sammy, and protective, big-brother Dean.


**Author's Note:**

 **Geez, I don't know guys...this one started off as a completely different story and then took on a life of it's own.**

 **It's mostly just fluff and extreme angst.**

 **A whole lot Dean taking care of Sammy.**

 **You know, my usual.**

 **Sorry for any punctuation errors or formatting mistakes, I'm too tired and my fine tooth comb is broken at the moment.**

 **Thanks for reading!!!! 3**

 **Reviews make me smile.**

Sam never understood how his brother seemed able to sleep through anything. Or rather, fall asleep through anything.

Dean, like Sam, had hunter instincts that were always on high alert, and the smallest creak of the floor or shift of shadows could cause his cat-green eyes to flutter open in the darkness; cause his ready fingers to reach beneath the pillow for the weapon he stashed there.

Despite this, Dean did not suffer from a nervous stomach and feverish insomnia like Sam did. As soon as he laid his strong body down and sank his head into the pillow, he drifted away into the rich, peaceful, sleep of a child. Sam was more than envious of this, he was angry. It was practically obscene. How could his brother be so calm when hell itself was nipping at his heels?

Sam sat at a table by the window, his pale face illuminated by the blue-gray light of his laptop screen. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept for more than an hour at a time. Most mornings he jolted awake after falling asleep in the middle of research, panting in a stiff, wild-eyed panic with a blinding headache and the impression of his keyboard smushed into the skin of his cheek.

Truthfully, he was afraid to sleep. He couldn't close his eyes and rest when every minute that ticked past brought his sibling closer to destruction. Sometimes when his eyes blurred so bad he couldn't see the computer screen anymore, he would just sit in the silence and watch Dean sleep.

Yes, he knew what Dean would say if he ever found that out. It was fucking creepy. Forget chick flick, that was teen vampire romance novel shit.

But at 3am when Sam hadn't found a single word of helpful lore and he could hear each second dripping away like water from a leaky faucet. When all he wanted to do was curse or cry or scream at a god he'd once had faith in, (or possibly all three at once). In those times all he could stand to do was study the simple rise and fall of Dean's chest. The way he looked in the dim, steady, glow of the moonlight coming through the crack in the curtains.

He wanted to memorize every moment; to catch his brother's breath and keep it in a jar like a fluttering insect, sealed and preserved forever, not watch him fade away while he clung on hopelessly, like a spider at the edge of the drain.

Sometimes Sam was just so angry at everyone. At his dad for dragging them into this life, at his mom for leaving them alone, at God for abandoning them after they'd fought for the light all their lives even in a world of so much darkness.

He was angry with Dean too.

He should have been the one to die, no, *he had died , all those months ago in Cold Oak with a knife in his spine and Dean's tears in his hair, he had slipped away into what was the first peaceful rest of his existence, and his goddamn, selfish brother had woken him up like always, pulled him back by the skin of his teeth and the fading tendrils of his sacrificed soul.

How could he do that to him?

Deep down he knew how.

Dean wasn't selfish. He was the most unselfish person Sam had ever known. But he was also the most self-loathing. He assumed that Sam could never need him as much as he needed Sam. Assumed Sam would be just fine, no, better off, without him.

But if the terrifying hole in Sam's heart at the mere thought of losing his brother was anything to judge by, then Dean had never been more wrong in his short life.

With a bone-deep sigh, Sam drug his bloodshot eyes away from his brother's sleeping form and gazed through the small crack in the curtains to the moonlit road outside.

There was a snowstorm brewing and white, misty puffs of snow rose up like pale spirits against the dark asphalt. The road laid out blank and prone while the cold flakes beat against its sedated surface. There was a dangerous sheen to it that hinted at black ice-the bane of unwary travelers.

Sam watched and his mind wandered back to another time.

In the winter of 1993 Sam and Dean spent a restless week in a no-tell motel at the edge of the dead-end town of Loveland, Ohio.

It was early January when a sudden and violent snowstorm blew out of the northeast and shut down the midwestern town, crashing cars and stranding disgruntled citizens.

They trudged out of their houses like growling bears woken too soon and tried to scrape their weary way through the heavy winter wonderland, puffing angrily from out of their faux-fur hoods.

John had called that morning to warn his boys that he wouldn't be back for them until the storm let up.

Dean listened silently and said goodbye without expression but Sam could tell he was worried. Their dad had forgotten that he only paid for the room until Friday and it was just a matter of hours before the oaf of a manager came knocking. Droopy-jowled and beady-eyed it didn't take a detective to see that he wasn't the merciful type; and if his soggy cigar and jaundiced complexion were any indication, he was more in the habit of satisfying his vices than of being generous with the less fortunate.

With no money and no idea where they were going, they got ready to leave.

Dean packed for them, throwing their clothes in duffel bags while Sam stood by, brooding out the window.

He felt the teeth of a chill biting in through the badly sealed glass and watched the snow swirling against the pavement outside.

"Come on, Sam."

Dean said, already halfway out the door. Sam grabbed his coat, hat, and gloves and followed his brother, leaving the warmth of their motel room behind.

"Dean, why didn't you tell dad we didn't have enough money to stay in the motel?"

Sam questioned as he trudged behind Dean, trying to keep up and not slip on the icy pavement.

"What would have been the point? He's stuck in a town 50 miles away, reminding him would just make him worry. We'll be fine, anyway. I have a plan."

Sam muttered something about being so cold but kept going. He trusted his big brother implicitly and if he said he had a plan then Sam knew everything would be ok.

After checking out and making the usual excuses for their lack of a guardian to the mostly disinterested manager, Sam and Dean headed back out into the cold.

The boys spent the morning curled up in chairs at the local library, Sam reading a novel so big he could barely lift it and Dean thumbing through a comic book while the suspicious librarian hovered nearby, shushing Dean when he laughed too loud.

"Dean, where are we gonna stay?"

Sam asked for thousandth time that day. He was beginning to experience nudges of doubt that his brother really had a plan after all, unless that plan included loitering in whatever warm place they could find.

"Dammit, Sammy! I would have told you by now if you'd just stop pestering me." Dean snapped.

" Ok, Okaaayyy...then tell me!" Sam whined, hanging off the arm of his chair and trying to keep his voice at a whisper.

I'm not even gonna tell you now because you will NOT leave me alone."

"You don't have a plan do you?"

Sam huffed. His hazel eyes looked suspiciously wet and he stared at Dean intensely.

"We're gonna end up freezing somewhere or getting arrested for...va-gran-cy..." he said the word slowly and deliberately. He'd just learned it.

"No, we're not gonna get arrested for..."

Dean stopped, wondering how it was that his kid brother already had a bigger vocabulary than him.

"We're not gonna get arrested. And we're not gonna freeze. If you'd just shut up for once and trust me everything will be fine."

But Dean didn't even sound convincing to himself and he saw doubt and fear in his little brother's eyes, along with barely restrained tears.

"Hey Sammy."

Dean got off his chair and knelt down in front of Sam who looked away resolutely.

"I have another idea."

He said it with an enticing edge to his tone and Sam looked up, his brow furrowed.

"What idea?"

"It's a surprise."

He clapped his hands against Sam's folded knees and stood up.

"Get your coat and put that stupid book away. Seriously, it probably took a small forest just to print that thing."

Sam kept up his frown for the sake of pride but he felt his bad mood melting away in anticipation. His big brother's surprises were always good and nearly always dangerous, like sneaking into R-rated movies or shoplifting enough candy to rot their teeth out.

Dean glided over the consequences as smoothly as a figure skater.

In the few instances where they'd gotten caught he'd talked his way out of it with so much charm and confidence he could have had anything he wanted by the time he was done.

That was his big brother. Never at a loss for words, flashing green eyes and a smile while Sam tried not to let his knees knock together.

Back out in the Ohio tundra, Sam raced behind Dean as he sped gracefully along the slippery sidewalks, towards the nearest shop.

It was a Dollar General, and the ugly, yellow sign stood out against the snow. The bell on the door rung cheerfully as they entered and the teenage clerk seated at the register looked up from her romance novel with barely concealed apathy.

These places always smelled the same; like cheap plastic and sadness, the crowded aisles towered over their heads and twangy country music crackled over the speakers. American consumerism at its finest.

Dean led the way confidently towards the seasonal aisle and breezed past the discounted Christmas junk and waxy chocolate Santas until he found what he was looking for; a bright red, circular, plastic sled. He picked it up, smirking, and handed it to Sam who took it eagerly. He grabbed the next one off the discarded pile, a dark green one, and tucked it under his arm.

"Shhh..."

He whispered, putting a finger to his lips

"Follow me."

Sam nodded silently. He knew what came next. Wordlessly the two boys slipped through the door marked "Employees Only" and headed out the back door exit unnoticed.

They ran through the snow in jeans, tennis shoes, and corduroy jackets not heavy enough to withstand the subzero temperatures. Sam's earflap hat and

thin, fleece gloves barely kept out the cold but he was too excited to notice.

When they arrived at a dead-end back road in a small neighborhood several minutes later, their cheeks and noses were nipped red and they were breathless with laughter.

There was a steep hill behind the last house. It swooped down at a dizzying angle terminating in a long, straight, field of virgin snow. The promising, icy sheen of the hillside made Sam's heart race with a burst of excited fear at the prospect of soaring down it.

"Are you scared, Sammy?"

Dean teased as he saw his little brother hesitate at the crest of the hill.

"Ha! Of course not!"

Sam laughed as he clambered onto the little sled, laying on his stomach, with his feet in the air behind him.

"Push me!"

He shouted out, then shrieked as Dean shoved him from behind so hard that the plastic sled went tearing down the hill. The wind rushed past him, and his stomach flipped as he hit a small bump and went airborne, flying off the plastic disc and into a pile of unforgiving snow with a loud "Oof!"

He rolled over on his side in time to see Dean come plummeting down, spinning in wild circles and crashing into the snow beside him.

Sam was laughing so hard his nose was running and he wiped it with the back of damp glove.

He was in a sort of strange, temperature limbo caught between shivering and sweating but he realized with a warmth that had nothing to do with exertion that he hadn't been this happy in a long time.

Sam and Dean spent the afternoon sledding until their noses, fingers and toes were numb.

Dean thought of a plan for their shelter after all, even if it wasn't quite the most comfortable option.

As the light slowly faded from the heavy, grey sky, the brothers snuck back to the unfriendly motel and Sam stood dripping and shivering, while Dean picked the lock on one of the furthest rooms.

They spent the night in relative comfort. It wasn't possible to turn on the lights or the television because they couldn't risk drawing attention, but Dean found a hot cocoa packet in his bag which they brewed in the room's tiny coffee pot and shared out of Dixie cups.

Huddled beneath blankets on one of the beds they honed their poker skills and talked companionably in a way that only close siblings know, a secret language of half-finished thoughts and inside jokes and movie references.

And the dark world outside, full of snow and ice and dads who abandoned their sons swirled away with the storm clouds.

"Sammy?"

The sleep-heavy voice of his brother stirred Sam out of his memories and he cleared his throat hurriedly, wiping at eyes that were suspiciously wet.

"What the hell are you still doing up, man?"

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face and readjusting his pillows.

"I'm fine. Just doing some research."

Dean looked suspiciously at Sam's black computer screen that had long since gone to sleep, as if it was as tired as its owner and had to take advantage of whatever rest it could.

Dean sighed and Sam knew his big brother wasn't fooled.

Dean always knew when Sam was not okay and he always knew how to fix it.

Sam found himself waiting, without even meaning to; waiting for his big brother to make everything alright again.

Waiting for him to say, as he had on every other occasion, "Everything will be ok, Sammy, just trust me."

But the silence stretched on.

Nothing was gonna make this ok.

In a few, short months Dean would be gone and without him there to take his hand and drag him out, to tease him and sing off key and make him laugh begrudgingly when his mood got dark, to slap him on the shoulder and shake him out of his depression, without his loud, obnoxious brother Sam knew would never be ok again.

Sam was so lost in his angsty thoughts that he didn't even realize Dean had gotten up until he felt the weight of a blanket draped around his shoulders. Dean sat a plastic cup of steaming, warm, liquid in front of him and settled down in the opposite chair.

The sweet, rich smell of hot cocoa wafted through the air and Sam looked up at Dean in shock.

It was like his memory come to life, the two of them drinking hot chocolate in a shitty motel while a winter storm raged just outside. There was a metaphor in there but Sam was too tired to think it through at the moment.

"How did...?"

Sam broke off and swallowed with a throat that was raw from disuse.

"Taste it, Sam."

Dean said, as he wrapped his fingers around his own cup.

"There's a special ingredient. It'll help you sleep."

He smirked.

Sam cautiously raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. It was his childhood all over again, except last time Sam was pretty sure the drink hadn't been spiked with peppermint schnapps.

"So...? Feeling sleepy yet?"

Sam smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks and nodded.

"Where did you even get this, Dean? Do you like have a secret stash of girly alcohol somewhere?"

Sam teased, taking another drink and feeling the warmth seep down into his bones.

"Hey, hey! Peppermint and chocolate is not girly, Sam. Peppermint and chocolate is sacred. Besides, if you wanna talk girly, I'm not the one that ordered a *berry sangria* at a bar last week..."

"Oh you don't even wanna start this argument, Dean! I can end it in two words..."

"Bring it on. That drink had a paper umbrella in it, Sammy. A PINK. Paper. Umbrella. And fresh fruit. There's no coming back from that kind of girly."

Sam leaned close and whispered

"Oh yeah? Old Yeller."

Dean froze up and narrowed his eyes.

"What? It's a movie about a dog. What?"

"You cry at that movie every time, Dean."

Dean looked truly affronted.

"What? No...that's..."

"Every. Damn. Time."

Sam repeated.

"You always watch it when it's on tv and when they shoot that old dog you're over there wiping your eyes. You think I don't see you..." Sam is snickering again while Dean deadpans and shakes his head.

"You know what, I'm not even gonna respond to that. That is low, Sammy. That movie is emotional. That fucking dog died to protect his own and I'm not even gonna apologize."

Dean keeps grumbling not noticing how suddenly his little brother has fallen silent again.

"Old Yeller was a real old west hero and that movie is a work of cinematic art..."

Dean is still muttering into his cup as he takes another gulp but when he looks up, Sam is staring down at the table, hands in a death grip around his cup.

Maybe it's exhaustion, maybe it's the weight of nostalgia hitting him all at once, or the culmination of months of stress and sleepless nights. Maybe it's all those things at once. Or maybe it's just that he was laughing and joking with his brother in a little motel in a dead-end town and things had felt their breed of normal for a minute, but suddenly, before he can stop himself, Sam is crying.

Tears are running down his face and dripping down onto his shirt as he bites his lip and tries to catch his breath.

Dean stares at him in shock, too stunned to move.

"Sam...?"

Dean tries to say but stops when Sam covers his face and begins to sob quietly into his hands.

"I'm sorry, Dean."

He whispers brokenly.

Dean gets up. God help him, he gets up and goes to Sam. He knows he's walking into the mother of all chick flick moments but he can't take it anymore, can't watch his little brother suffer like this and do nothing.

He kneels down by Sam and puts a hand on his arm.

Something in Dean's touch seems to break Sam even more and he sags against him like he hasn't got an ounce of strength left, crying softly into his brother's neck.

Dean wraps his arms around Sam's form, holding him in a tight hug and the two stay huddled together like that for a long time.

"I'm sorry, Dean"

Sam finally mumbles through his tears.

Dean pushes Sam back, still holding him by the shoulder and tenderly brushes his damp hair out of his face.

"What the hell are you sorry for, Sammy?"

He asks in a voice that comes out a bit harsher than he intended.

"I...I'm...s..sorry"

he shakes his head, trying to get the words past his shuddering breath.

"I'm sorry I never make you hot cocoa."

"What...?"

It's so bizarre Dean almost laughs. But not quite.

"What are you talking about?"

Sam gasps for air and looks at him with an expression so raw Dean can hardly stand it.

"I'm sorry I never take care of you. I'm always the one in trouble, I'm always the one who needs saved. And you're so good at it...but...I never...Dean..." Sam gasps, looks away, fighting for long-lost control...

"Dean, I never know how to save you."

He doesn't have to say it all. Dean knows what he means. He can't save him from the hellhounds or from the fate worse than death that looms on the horizon.

He chokes on more tears not even bothering to wipe them away when they fall, tiredly down his cheeks.

"Sammy. Look at me."

Dean says it gently and Sam meets Dean's fierce, green eyes.

"You save me every single day."

Sam scoffs and shakes his head.

"How can you say that when...in a few months you'll...you'll be..."

he fights but can't say the word 'dead' so he gives up. They both know what he's trying to say anyways.

"You give me a reason to fight."

Dean corrects him.

"I wouldn't get out of bed in the morning if it weren't for you. I wouldn't have made it after dad. Hell, I wouldn't have made it after *mom* if I didn't have my pain in the ass little brother to drag me up."

Dean's voice is tight now, and he has to swallow past the lump in his throat but he keeps talking, gripping Sam by the shoulder while he speaks.

"You keep me standing, Sammy. You're all I have in this messed-up world and I want you to let me save you. Will you do that for me, Sammy? Just let me be your big brother?"

"Dean..." tears are still tracking their way down Sam's face but his next sentence comes out strong

"No. I'm not gonna just let you go to hell if that's what you're asking. You don't get to give up that easily."

Dean nods.

"Alright then. We'll fight this. But we'll fight together, Sam. No more staying up all night by yourself staring at a screen until your brain leaks out of your ear, ok?"

"One more thing, Sam, what's this crap about not doing anything for me? I mean don't you think someone would have shot and buried my rude ass a long time ago if it weren't for you coming along to apologize for me?"

Sam chokes on a laugh through his tears and Dean smiles at him sadly.

"You're gonna be ok, little brother. I promise."

He says gently. After a minute he stands up.

"Now, we're not going anywhere until this storm breaks so I'm gonna spend it catching up on some beauty sleep, and from the looks of you, you *really* need that, princess."

Dean claps Sam on the shoulder and helps him up.

He's still shaky from his breakdown and lack of sleep so he leans on Dean until they get to his bed, then he sinks down into his pillow.

Dean takes the blanket from around Sam's shoulders and covers him back up with it as gently as a mother with her child.

"You're gonna be ok."

He mutters again, but by this time Sam is already asleep.

~The end.


End file.
